“I have always felt sorry for the bee, which, I was told as a child, has only one chance in its life to sting. The expression frozen on the dead bee’s face seemed to bear this out. Its whole head was powdered with fine, cream-colored pollen, a bright reminder of its final indiscretion. Putting the bee in the wastebasket seemed wrong somehow. Instead, I lay on the floor next to the tiny corpse, resting my temple against the cold linoleum so that I could get a closer look and try to stop trembling... for a while. Other animals are stupid, and shameful. The shark, for instance, which must keep swimming in order to breathe. Or the wild redhead duck. My mother often told me that if a wild redhead duck was wounded by a hunter, it would drown itself rather than be caught. She was trying to teach me a lesson, I think, but it never made any sense to me. I knew that when the moment came, I would allow myself to be caught, no matter how desperately I wanted to die. Whenever I think of the duck swimming madly toward the black lake bottom, though, I have to sit in the large leather head, holding on to my knees with both hands.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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